Why do we fish?

Then they probably settled back and relaxed, sitting in the galley listening to the anchor cable creak, playing cribbage or Call of Duty, re-watching the same old action movies, sipping on coffee, and puffing on variously equipped vape sticks.

A buoy with a sturdy trailing line is often attached to the anchor as it is set, in case the cable snaps. An anchor buoy makes it likely the valuable anchor can be retrieved using the boat’s hydraulics, provided the boat is not on the beach.

Still, the very fact that such a precaution is advisable might make the average person, sitting on anchor at the south end of Kodiak Island, watching storm force winds rake the treeless countryside and blow their boat wildly back and forth, ask himself: “What the hell am I doing out here, anyway?”

And, indeed, why would anyone in his right mind choose to go to sea on a fishing boat? On paper the risks seem to outnumber the rewards. In fact, there is no guarantee of any reward at all. Crewmen and hired skippers work by contract for a percentage of the realized profit, if any. Owners dump money into boats and equipment, quota and permits, just for a chance to catch fish. Neither gets paid a dime until the product passes over the dock.

Free labor is the currency of the industry. Often a crewman will have weeks of work invested in any upcoming season. And then it’s off to the marine supply store. The cost to outfit yourself like a spaceman is not insignificant. You need waterproof boots, gloves, sleeves, bibbed pants and jackets, under which is worn high-tech moisture wicking wool and polyester blended socks, shirts, pants, hoodies and glove liners.

For deckhands who show up broke, many boat owners are agreeable to providing a “draw” on potential earnings to pay for such expenses, and sometimes even a little flash money for a couple of meals in town. 

But Kodiak Tanner fishermen sat in town for two weeks, waiting for the resolution of a strike for better prices. Many were no doubt trapped on the boat, having spent their draws at the B&B, their brand-new, unpaid-for rain gear hanging uselessly on deck, mocking them.

In the daytime they did busy work, replacing grommets and door hinges, followed by arm’s length cell phone conversations with wives and girlfriends at night. Surely some of them must have considered other options for gainful employment.  

But for those bitten by the salt water bug, it is not easy to give up. On a fishing boat the confusing world full of billions of people is replaced, for a time, with a simpler one of just five people. That world is a bubble of air riding a vast sea, and success is entirely dependent on your ability to perform as a team.  There are no “influencers” on deck. There are no cubicles to hide in, or Facebook to wander through like a house of mirrors. Social media on deck means shouting Austin Powers quotes over the hydraulics. 

On deck you get “likes” for being able to snag a buoy with the grapple hook the first time every time, and to be able to smoothly run the buoy set-up through the Kingcoiler at full speed. You “like” a hydraulic operator who feels the motion of the waves and pulls pots onboard with perfect timing, so the rail men can swing them quickly onto the launcher. You “like” the skipper who can pilot a floating vehicle through confused seas and drive up on the buoy perfectly. You really “like” the cook who can step off deck and deliver a hot delicious meal an hour later, working in the ditch the whole time.

And when the fishing is bad, or the weather is rough, or sleep is no longer an option you learn much about your crewmates, and yourself. Friendships forged on water can be deep indeed. You learn the best and worst about each other when you work together furiously for 20 hours a day in 14-foot seas, and sleep together in a stack of bunks crammed into the pointy end of the boat. 

The fishing lifestyle sharpens life. Life on land is hazy, and indistinct. One day flows into the next, forming carbon copy weeks that fold into months. Flavors fade, and joys shrink into pleasantries. Fishing is all about the next season, and the possibilities are always endless. The 15 hours between meals on the boat are a remarkable flavor enhancer. Nothing tastes as good as a cold beer in Kodiak after a long season out west. And there is nothing like the feeling of a warm and welcoming home after a long trip.

Yes, fishing can be a tough life to give up. Except possibly for gonzo fishing journalism.

Terry Haines was a commercial fisherman in Kodiak for more than 30 years. He now produces the Alaska Fisheries Report for KMXT and is a member of the Kodiak City Council. He can be reached at thaines@city.kodiak.ak.us